


To A Madonna

by liionne



Series: Les Amoureux en Paris [8]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-02
Updated: 2013-04-02
Packaged: 2017-12-07 06:39:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/745455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liionne/pseuds/liionne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Courfeyrac meets Jehan, and Grantaire wants to go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To A Madonna

"I hate these places. Y'know, stuffy, smells like old things, no windows. You only ever get that in bookstores." Grantaire stood with his arms folded, frowning at the little nook they had found in the tiny book store that sat on the main high street, wedged between a sweet shop and a seamstress's. Courfeyrac was sat on the floor with his legs crossed, the toes of his scruffy red Converse pressing against books that had to be placed on the floor, as there was no room for them on the shelves. 

"Well I like it. I like that smell, I like how cosy it is, and I like how cluttered it is." Courfeyrac retorted, turning a book over in his hand to read the blurb, having examined the front cover and the artwork. "And anyways, this book store stocks everything from medical textbooks," He set his hand down on the book he had picked out for Joly, whos birthday was coming up in a matter of days, "To poetry anthologies." He held up the book he was looking at. "And the prices are all for broke uni students like myself."

"You wouldn't be so broke if you didn't lend to Marius all the time." Grantaire raised his eyebrows.

Courfeyrac stood, deciding he was going to have the book. "You know, if you want, R, I can buy you a book too. Seeing as I'm so generous." Courfeyrac offered. "I'm sure I saw a book in the Self Help section entitled 'How Not To Be An Asshole'."

He looked at Grantaire, also with his eyebrows raised. The other man laughed, and Courfeyrac broke into a grin. 

"I'm just saying," Courfeyrac said, as he walked towards the counter. "Maybe if you started being a little more charitable, and stopped drinking so much," Grantaire rolled his eyes. Courfeyrac always found a way to fit that one in, "your Apollo would actually pay some attention to you."

Grantaire sighed. "Not even that would help me, Courf. He knows I exists, and he hates it."

"We can all change our minds." Courfeyrac nodded.

"Not him." Grantaire shook his head. "I'm pretty sure he's set in his hatred of me."

Courfeyrac shrugged, then. If Grantaire wasn't going to help himself, how could Courfeyrac help him? He had seen the way Enjolras sometimes looked at him when he was sober (which was rare, but still occurred); Enjolras wanted to like him, it was obvious. But Grantaire's beliefs pretty much went against everything he himself believed in, so he was reluctant to let himself like the other man. It wasn't a lost battle to Courfeyrac, but Grantaire was already pulling down the tents and going home.

As they reached the counter, Courfeyrac faltered. The half-dead looking middle aged woman with the black hair and black makeup who had been sat behind the counter when they entered was gone, and nothing was left of her other than the smell of cigarette smoke and some ash on the counter, where she had obviously missed the crystal ash tray. Now, in her place, was a man about their age, wearing a peachy coloured coat over a loose white vest top, floral jeans, Converse and a floral scarf. His dirty blonde hair was pulled just over his shoulder in a braid, with spring flowers woven into it. It was a style all of its own, almost feminine in a way, but pulled off so beautifully by the man that Courfeyrac could not have cared less. As the man turned the page of the book he was reading, and picked up a highlighter to make the book his own, Courfeyrac noticed the black nail polish on his fingers, and it only intrigued him more.

"Do you mind?" Grantaire whined to Courfeyrac. "I want to go and you staring at the shop assistant isn't going to get us out any quicker."

Grantaire, who had absolutely no sense of volume, had obviously spoken loud enough for the shop assistant in question to here, as he looked up with inquiring blue eyes, looking from one man to the other. He smiled, then dropped his gaze back to the book he was highlighting. 

"Just go over there and do that thing that you do and get his number so we can leave." Grantaire dropped his voice to a whisper.

"Fine." Courfeyrac muttered. "Fine."

He walked confidently over to the counter, and placed the book down with a gentle thud. The man looked up, making the daisy above his ear quiver, and he put his own book down.

He picked up the books, turning them over to check the price so he could ring them into the till. "A medical text book and a poetry collection?" He asked with a small smile. "Quite different, aren't they?"

"The text book's for a friend." Courfeyrac nodded.

"I see." The cashier nodded, placing it into a brown paper bag. He picked up the second book and rang it into the till. He turned it over in his hands, looking it over before looking up to Courfeyrac.

"Baudelaire?" He asked again, with a small smile. "I like Baudelaire."

"I've only ever read a few of his poems." Courfeyrac shrugged. He kept trying to find a way to turn on the charm, to capture this man like he had captured Courfeyrac. But he couldn't find any.

"My favourite is 'To A Madonna'," The man said, placing the book in the brown paper bag. "But overall, I prefer English poets."

"How very unpatriotic of you." Courfeyrac grinned.

The man shrugged. "Their romanticism is far better than ours."

A silence fell between them, in which both men simply looked at one another. Grantaire audibly groaned in the background; the man looked towards him, but Courfeyrac kept his attention forward.

"I'm Nicolas, but everyone calls me Courfeyrac. And that's R, but everyone calls him Grantaire," He jerked his thumb behind him to point to the main in question. "Our group of friends calls everyone by their last name, we're nerdy little fuckers."

"I'm Jean Prouvaire. But feel free to call my Jehan." Jehan nodded. "Everyone else does."

"Hang on, Jehan?" Grantaire stepped forward. "Enjolras was talking about you the other day."

"You know Enjolras?" Courfeyrac asked.

Jehan nodded. "He comes in here a lot. We talk about his society."

"Oh." Courfeyrac nodded. "Well look, you should come along to one of our meetings. The next one's on Wednesday night, only night where Enjolras doesn't have some big eloborate project to do, in the Musain, just round the corner? We'd love to have you there, or at least, I would. That place is in dire need of a beautiful man like yourself to brighten it up."

Jehan blushed, and murmured a thank you while Grantaire gave another groan. "Can we go yet?" He asked.

Courfeyrac sighed slightly. "I'll see you there?" He asked Jehan.

Jehan nodded, causing the flowers in his hair to tremble. Courfeyrac smiled, grabbed his bag and noddded to Grantaire, who graciously followed him out of the store. "Smooth." He muttered to Courfeyrac when they were safely outside. Courf just rolled his eyes, unlocking his car and scooting into the driver's seat.

**Author's Note:**

> My first time writing Courfeyrac and Jehan, so I hope this was okay.


End file.
